There are some sure signs that summer has arrived, high temperatures, a sunburn on the shoulders of a Wisconsin Girl in an ill-advised tube top and the running of the category racers at the Harlem Crit. I am a father, we decided this year we brought the girls along to watch the race. My primary goal for the race was to not end up as a bleeding pile of pastel-colored Lycra, as spending the day in a city emergency room is not the type of family building exercise I would want for Father’s Day.

This would be challenging, as this year the finishing straight for the race was narrower than in years past, and I had my doubts as to whether the new thinner path to glory could contain the amassed dreams, desires and delusions of a charging pack shoved into two lanes of traffic. My plan to avoid cataclysm was to try and fling myself off the front of the race, and avoid any mayhem that could occur in the pack behind me. This has been a successful year for team BH/Garneau, which has been great for our results tally, but has left me teammate free in category three races as my teammates have left me behind for the greener pastures of category two racing. If I wanted to get away today, I would have to do it by myself.

I figured that any break with a chance today would require about five committed riders to keeping the pack at bay. Finding that many motivated individuals in a race is harder than it sounds as team dynamics, race situations and scaredy cat-ed-ness conspire to keep guys from trying to get off the front. But I was committed to trying anyway, as a sprint finish would get me 15th on my best day. We rolled off and didn’t crash in turn one on the first lap—as we are not cat fours. The race then got up to speed and rolled along, with some small pops off the front. I had a few inconsequential swipes at a break, one of which was a "daddy break", a solo move I attempted only so my daughters could pick me out of the pack of racers. I accomplished my goal, and shoved myself back into the pack.

With about 5 or so laps to go, Danny Lim of Die Hard jumped off the front, he dangled off the front for about a lap before being joined by Will Payton of WS United, Gerry Martinez and Ramphy Zorrilla from Innovation and a Kissena guy. I didn’t have much faith in the break working, so I didn’t make an attempt to get across. I stayed in the pack and decided to rely on the teams with numbers to work on chasing the break, and oddly, no chase ever really formed. As we came to the bell signaling the final lap, the break had about a half straightaway’s lead. I was counting on the pace increasing in our group, and my plan was to counter attack as we caught the break, then I would try and hold my gap to the line ahead of the crashing pack behind me. This scenario didn’t go quite according to plan, of course.

We didn’t catch the break, and there was no chance for a counter attack, an acceleration by me only would’ve served as a lead out for the sprinters behind me. I found myself in the loathsome position of contesting the field sprint at Harlem. In life, some things are guaranteed: Rod Blagojevich doing a perp walk, Justin Bieber warbling through a Christmas Album, Miley Cyrus bidding on Madonna’s old cone bras on ebay, and a crash on the last corner of the cat three race at Harlem. And this year’s race was no exception. I was positioned near the sprinters as we headed into turn four, James Joseph jumped on the right and we all reacted, I came around the corner and was confronted by bouncing bikes, rolling bodies and cracking bones. (Scott Savory flipped over his bars and hit the ground running, Ugli-style) I can’t say that I was surprised by the crash, as this is part of the Harlem experience. I stayed calm, looked for an opening not clogged with a bike or a body, and I burst through as if my life depended on it, Flecha-style.

I ended up being one of the last guys not caught behind or involved in the crash and I rolled in for 11th, one spot out of the money. Normally, I would be a little miffed by finishing in the "sister-kisser" position, but I was so happy to cross the line without the aid of an ambulance, that I didn’t mind one bit.

schmalz race report

Any Harlem race you can walk away from is a success in my book. Let’s go with a three.

The head song for the day was "Mother Popcorn" by James Brown. "Skinny legs and all…"